


The Marquess of Serkonos

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:52:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15085448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: Corvo is the son of the Duke of Serkonos and Daud is the head of Serkonos’ Royal Guard. Trouble brews when Corvo decides to visit the heart of Karnaca.





	The Marquess of Serkonos

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** "Can I have something about Daud being the Royal Protector and Corvo is royalty or a prince in Serkonos? Daud is ya know jaded and bitter and Corvo is more hopeful and trusting, which bothers Daud because that’s how you get hurt. And if there can be some corvo/daud action, that’d be awesome. if not, no biggie."

 

Inland Karnaca is humid and near insufferable when thrown into the sprawl of clustered buildings and congested streets. Daud can feel his forehead drip with sweat, burning in his Royal Guard’s uniform. The heat is hardly abated with the _ooo_ -ing and _ahh_ -ing of the Serkonos populace, clustering closer on their position to catch a glance at the Duke’s only son: Marquess Corvo Attano. If the Duke’s health continues to fail, Corvo Attano will become the new Duke of Serkonos.

All of Serkonos is intrigued — wanting to catch sight of the, potential, new Duke. To hear of his father’s health. To pester with questions and policies. While some welcome Corvo, there are those who do not. Those who criticize the young man’s easy acceptance and naivety of trusting any and all offers of a helping hand. 

The rest of Daud’s men look equally uncomfortable as he feels, forming a human barricade around the shop Corvo walked into. Rarely do they traverse this far into the city, especially in highly populated areas in the middle of the day. Too much risk. Too many variables.

The Marquess hardly seems perplexed by the chaos of the situation. He’s busy chatting with a shop owner who is showing him something made out of bone and metal. 

Daud gives a pat on the back of one of his men and returns into the shop. It’s still warm, but the fan on the ceiling is creating a semblance of a relieving breeze. He moves closer, standing at parade rest near Corvo. He can see the item that has the young man’s attention. Some sort of organ — a heart? — has been mutated by metal, bone, and cogs so it can imitate movement. It beats without blood, a light flickering inside. Daud frowns at the trinket. 

“— it says that those who are worthy to wield it will learn the secrets of all those around them,” the shopkeeper is explaining, encouraging Corvo to hold the device. Corvo eyes it, mesmerized. Daud highly doubts this will please the Overseers, casting a cursory gaze through the shop’s windows— 

Daud’s back straightens. People are trying to push past his men. There is shouting, muffled by the shop’s walls and windows.

“My lord, we should leave,” Daud advises, his eyes remaining on the unfolding scene. They have stayed in this location for far too long.  A hand leaves his back and reaches out to touch the young lord’s arm with a strange familiarity. 

Corvo mumbles in return, attention faraway, “Just a bit longer.” 

Someone wedges a shoulder in between the guards, easing their side in, people beginning to push and funnel in from this breakage point. Daud turns away and grabs the strange heart out of Corvo’s hand, pushing it back to the shopkeeper’s. 

“Do you have a back entrance?”

 _“Daud?!”_ Corvo is heaving, his face pinched into a frown. Exasperated.

“Do you have a back entrance?” Louder, this time. 

The shopkeeper fumbles, nodding, pointing to the hallway behind him. Daud gives a nod and drags Corvo by the scruff of his attire through the hallway. By the time they reach the door, there is a roar of anxious shouting and inquires. Daud urges Corvo to move faster. He weaves through a clutter of stalls, snapping at Corvo to shut up when he tries to ask what’s happening. Corvo goes quiet and, thankfully, moves a bit faster. 

Daud chooses to squeeze them into a tucked away courtyard. Judging from the posters pasted on the doors of the nearby buildings clustering it, the building has been condemned due to bloodfly infestation. A dry, cracked fountain sits in the middle of the courtyard, vegetation and vines overwhelming the sides of the building. Daud urges them towards one of the corners of the courtyard, well out of sight, hidden under the shadow of the buildings.

He listens, waiting to hear footsteps. They never come. 

After five minutes of the two breathing in silence, Daud sighs and allows the tension riding his back to ease. 

“I warned you of this. We cannot do spontaneous trips into the city. It must be planned,” Daud lectures. Corvo frowns, moving to adjust his pulled back hair. Despite the steadiness of his expression, Daud catches the tremble in his hands. 

Daud tries again, forcing patience, “We have to be more careful.” 

Corvo nods. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, after a moment, tone far more forgiving. Concerned. 

Corvo shakes his head and he reaches out with his hand, but doesn’t touch. He’s waiting. Daud takes it, scarred fingers curling around Corvo’s hand. Daud is quite aware of the issue and arrogance of being this familiar with royalty. He’s expressed it plainly to the Marquess, but words fall on deaf ears and Daud never made an honest attempt to repel the young man. 

Selfishness. He’s lean muscle and sharp lines, aesthetically pleasing. His sparring technique is more than acceptable and he doesn’t admonish the blisters and broken skin that comes from training with the sword. That alone is strange from a noble and one that sits in simmering heat in his gut every time they spar. Most importantly, Corvo is the spitting image of what he could have been as a person if he didn’t… 

Daud doesn’t finish the thought. He exhales heavily through his nostrils and makes an approving sound. That has Corvo leaning into him, forehead resting on his shoulder. They stay there that way until Corvo pulls away. 

“We should stay until this passes. The rest will be waiting for us at the extraction point,” Daud informs, finally, wiping his forehead and brows with the back of his arm. Corvo nods, leaning against a wall. 

“I wanted to buy it,” Corvo starts, careful not to speak too loud.

“Hmm?”

“The heart.” 

Daud gives a careful sound, moving towards Corvo to join him. He settles against the spot next to him, folding his hands over his lap. “Overseers would not look kindly upon seeing that in the palace,” he warns. Corvo scoffs. 

“Apparently it can hear the secrets of those around you. Their innermost thoughts,” Corvo continues, shaking his head in awe. Daud doubts the legitimacy of the object, but decides not to comment on the fact. “If I had that…maybe I’d feel more confident about taking my father’s place. …when it happens,” he confesses. 

“Knowing everyone’s secrets does not always make for a good ruler,” Daud returns, after a moment of mulling the young man’s words over, “let others earn your trust. Don’t give it freely from the start.” 

“I trust you. You more than earned it.” 

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Daud looks at Corvo, who’s staring back at him — staring at his nose, his eyes, and settling on his mouth. Corvo turns his body, so he’s facing Daud’s profile, and leans in to press his mouth against his. Daud doesn’t react, at first. He only eases when he feels fingers running across the underside of his jaw, letting his body turn to face the Marquess chest-to-chest. He allows Corvo to lead, his lips slow and appreciative. 

More out of concern of the possibility of being caught, he moves so only his back is exposed to the open world, Corvo safely tucked out of view. 

He _should_ stop this. He even goes through the motions, half-heartedly, of pulling his mouth away for breath and a moment of discipline. “This is unwise,” he informs. He betrays himself by crowding further into Corvo’s space, their noses bumping into the other, eyes half closed. Corvo gives a sound in agreement, but kisses the side of his mouth. He should stop this, again. He doesn’t. He disturbs the slow pace by pressing his mouth more urgently against his. He lets his teeth drag against Corvo’s bottom lip, earning a soft noise from Corvo, as his hands settle somewhere on his waist. 

Corvo adjusts, mirroring this new tone. He opens his mouth wider, lets Daud’s tongue press into his. His hips roll forward and Daud presses back, pinning him to the wall. 

Corvo, eventually, pushes a hand against his hips and Daud pulls away. Good. They really should stop. Their mouths part, Corvo’s lips red and swollen. Daud takes in the image, greedily, before turning his head to stare behind him. Still nothing. Nobody. He can hear, faintly, the normal sound of the shuffle and calls from the stalls — 

Corvo is tugging at his slacks, picking at the buttons. Daud’s hand grabs at Corvo’s wrist, “Too much risk.” The Marquess frowns at him. He adds, loosening his grip on his wrist, “You don’t need to do this.” Because this would be very different than their spur of the moment kissing and touching of the other over their clothes behind closed doors.

“I want to.” 

Daud’s lips form a thin line. He casts another look behind him before turning back to Corvo. “I am trusting you, right now,” he returns, steadily, something of a warning riddled throughout. The Marquess nods in understanding and continues unbuttoning Daud’s slacks. 

He won’t lie there is something stupidly indulging about this moment, his heart beating with adrenaline, his ears listening to _everything_ around them. He can hear Corvo’s breathing, the muffled buzzing of bloodflies trapped within the buildings, and the faint sound of Karnaca’s streets. There location is tentatively secure and there is a greedy urgency that consumes him. He lends a hand in pushing his slacks and underclothes down, exposing himself. 

Corvo gives a noisy intake of air, starring at the flushed, red cock curling just so against the hem of Daud’s jacket. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his fingers around it, earning a low noise from the base of Daud’s throat. He lets his hand run up and down, grip far too light. 

Daud, eventually, curls his hand over Corvo’s, tightening the grip. Corvo follow’s Daud’s lead. He lets his hand be guided across, pace beginning to quicken. He’s already leaking, dripping on Corvo’s fleeing wrist and on the small space between them. Daud leans further, dipping his head, pressing his mouth into the soft juncture between Corvo’s throat and collarbone. He lets his teeth graze over flesh, feeling the bounce of Corvo’s pulse against his bottom lip. He sucks on the skin, careful to keep it somewhere where the collar of a shirt can hide. Then,  he sinks his teeth into him, like an animal taking ownership. Corvo’s gasp is the reward. 

His hand leaves Corvo’s, settling somewhere on his side. He lets his hips rock and match Corvo’s ministrations, thrusting into the tight space of his hand.  The space is too dry, but Corvo is starting to pant out his name in his ear. It’s just enough to push him over the edge, re-sinking his teeth into Corvo as warning, a throaty groan pressed into his skin. 

He keeps himself there even after. Corvo’s hand comes to a halt, grip loosening, but present. 

Daud pulls his mouth off of Corvo, having the good graces of wiping his spit-slick mouth with the back of his hand. Corvo’s skin is an angry red, spying the white ringlet of teeth in the middle.

Corvo moves his hand away and they part, the air smelling of sweat, them, and dirt. Daud gives a cursory wipe of himself with the edges of his shirt before tucking himself in — right, Corvo. He turns to Corvo, ready to offer his jacket to clean up his hand and person, but the gesture is quickly aborted. Corvo is sticking a wet finger in his mouth, sucking himself clean. His own hands move, as if to pull Corvo’s hand away from his mouth, but it doesn’t get far. It limps back to his side, stunned.

“You don’t have to,” Daud reiterates.

“I want to.”

Daud can only stare.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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